


A Shot in the Dark

by theirhappystory



Series: Creatures of the Night [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, NOT a Pretty Woman AU, prostitute/client au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 23:16:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19413472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theirhappystory/pseuds/theirhappystory
Summary: It's the first time Felicity is truly grateful for her training from the organization.





	A Shot in the Dark

“Six ninety-eight… six ninety-nine… seven hundred.”

Felicity shuffles the crisp dollar bills together after double-checking tonight’s earnings and slides them into a manilla folder. Marking the folder with the date and client ID, she leans over the side of her bed to grab the metal safety deposit box out from underneath it. She unlocks the box and places the folder inside before relocking it and returning the box back to where it belongs. 

It’s not the most original of hiding places, but it will do. Felicity doesn’t make a habit of having visitors and the only other entity taking up residence in her one bedroom apartment is a roughly five-month-old, judgemental feline. The chances of anyone finding that box and stealing her money are slim. But then again, this is the Glades and she’s not dumb enough to leave every dollar to her name lying around for the taking.

Scooting out of bed, Felicity makes her way to the kitchen in search of a late night snack. Her feet, clad in pink fuzzy socks, slip and slide across the cheap linoleum floor on her way. Pulling open the refrigerator door, she scans the shelves for something that won’t make her hate herself in the morning, but quickly decides that she just doesn’t care. In a matter of minutes, Felicity is seated in front of her computer with a pint of her favorite mint chip ice cream beside her and Java purring at her feet.

Clicking her way through various programs, she opens up a spreadsheet with this week’s earnings and logs in the money she made tonight. Skimming through the document, it appears she was able to bounce back from the appointment she had to cancel the other night with Mr. Fuller, which is extremely lucky because rent is due in a few days and the last thing Felicity needs is her landlord breathing down her neck. She continues on with her nightly routine of checking her website and is just about to run a background check on a prospective client when she feels Java tense against her legs. At first she ignores him, but then the cat emits a low growl, arching his back as if preparing to fight.

“What’s wrong, little boy?”

Felicity pushes herself away from the desk to study the animal’s tense form. His ears are tucked back, fur standing up high on his back as he trains his gaze on the doorway to her bedroom. The stance puts Felicity on high alert. Quietly, she slides open one of her desk drawers and removes the false bottom, revealing her Glock 19 Gen 4 handgun. Reaching inside, she pulls out the weapon and slowly stands from her chair. Java growls again at her feet, louder this time, and releases a threatening hiss as Felicity quietly approaches her room, being careful to come from an angle that will keep her hidden.

Pressing her back against the hallway wall, Felicity moves toward the open door. The gun is heavy but familiar in her hands, grip tight as she aims it at the floor. The faint sound of shuffling reaches her ears as she gets closer, giving her pause when she reaches the doorframe. She listens in an attempt to make out what could be causing the sound. There’s more shuffling, some tapping, and then the distinct sound of her bedroom window sliding open. Felicity inhales deeply to gather her courage, preparing to confront the intruder. The second she hears the dull thud of a foot meeting her carpeted bedroom floor, she steps into the doorway and aims the gun at the dark figure creeping through her window. 

“Don’t you dare come any closer to me or I’ll - Oliver?!”

Her eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and Felicity can now clearly make out the distinct hooded figure of Starling City’s very own vigilante. He’s frozen in place, body hunched over with one leg still out the window, and staring at the weapon in her hands. Adrenaline pumps through her veins, fueling her next words as she continues to grip the gun tightly.

“What the hell are you doing?! I could have killed you!”

“Can we have this conversation without the gun aimed at my chest with unnerving accuracy?”

Felicity lowers the weapon and clicks the safety back into place, gingerly setting it on the wooden dresser beside her. As she flicks the light on, Oliver pulls the remainder of his body into the room and slides the window shut behind him. He stands there for a moment, as if he isn’t sure what to do with himself. 

It’s a little strange seeing him dressed like this up close, quiver strapped to his back and bow in hand. He’s all green leather and shadows, even in the bright lighting of her bedroom. His presence has always been strong, but now it’s even more powerful, intimidating yet enticing in a way that causes her traitorous body to become flush with the beginnings of arousal. Felicity shakes herself out of her ogling just in time to catch Oliver’s own gaze as it travels back up her body, and she is suddenly painfully aware of the tiny printed sleep shorts and oversized MIT sweatshirt she’s currently rocking.

“Seriously, what are you doing here? How did you even know which apartment was mine?”

“I have something for you.”

Her attempt at distraction seems to work as Oliver quickly averts his intense gaze from her to an object in his hands. Approaching her slowly, he holds it out for Felicity to take. She accepts the item, careful not to brush his gloved hand with her own, and examines it closely. Her eyebrows rise as she looks closer and realizes what she’s holding.

“A laptop full of bullet holes. You shouldn’t have.”

She hears Oliver release an aggravated sigh, but continues to study the destroyed piece of technology.

“I need you to recover whatever data you can from this, like you did with my computer last week.”

“A please would be nice.”

Glancing up at him, Felicity raises her eyebrows at Oliver to let him know that she’s not kidding. Amusement dances across his face as he tilts his head to the side and smiles at her despite himself. The expression is one she’s seen on him before, but in his hood and what appears to be greasepaint smeared across his face it’s all the more endearing. The contradiction between light and dark making the action standout all the more.

“Please.”

“Well since you asked so nicely.” 

Felicity makes her way out of the bedroom and back towards her desk, plopping herself down in her swivel chair and pulling out a cord to connect the laptop to her computer. Java leaps up onto the desk, a low growl in the back of his throat as he glares at Oliver.

“Behave.” 

Felicity admonishes the cat before addressing Oliver once again. 

“I’m assuming you need this for vigilante reasons. Is that why it’s riddled with bullets? Was someone shooting at you? You know what, scratch that. I don’t really want to know.”

When there’s no immediate response from Oliver, she glances back over her shoulder to see if he followed her or disappeared into the night. It seems like something he would do. However, Felicity finds him standing about a foot away from her, hood pushed back off of his head. There’s something off about the way he’s standing. It’s not the stillness she has come to subconsciously associate with him. Instead he almost looks like he’s… swaying. Upon closer scrutiny, Felicity realize that he is paler than normal, too, a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Are you okay? You’re looking a little green. And I’m not talking about the leather.”

“What? Oh, uhm, yeah I’m f-fine.”

Oliver’s brow furrows, eyes squinting as he jerks his head once to the side as if to clear away an unpleasant thought or feeling.

“You sure? Cause you look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I’m sure. I just might need to... sit down... for a second.”

Felicity jumps from her seat as Oliver staggers to the side, attempting to offer him some sort of foundation to regain his footing.

“Whoa, there! Easy, big guy.”

Miraculously she’s able to keep him upright, situating herself into Oliver’s side as he drapes an arm across her shoulders for additional support. There’s no way she can hold his entire weight for very long, so Felicity quickly guides them back towards her bedroom.

“Wow, you’re heavy. Is this really all muscle?”

Oliver stumbles again, nearly sending them careening into the wall.

“Felisssty… something’s wrong.”

“I can see that."

Somehow she manages to get them to the bedroom, unceremoniously dumping Oliver onto her bed. Her eyes scan his form, searching for injury.

"Does anything hurt?”

“Shoulder.”

Without a second thought, Felicity yanks the zipper of his leather jacket down, pushing it back as far as she can. Sure enough, there's a dark, wet spot spreading across his undershirt where his shoulder and bicep meet. Felicity reaches for the hem of Oliver's shirt, tugging it upwards to signal that he needs to take it off. He struggles to help her, bracing himself against the mattress and pushing upward so she can slide it off along with his jacket.

“These are not the circumstances under which I imagined getting you naked. Not that I’ve imagined it. Much.”

“I think he… might’ve shot me.”

“He? You know who did this?" 

Oliver grunts as she presses her fingers into the tender flesh surrounding the wound, arms giving out beneath him as he falls back on his forearms. It's a gunshot wound alright, and the bullet has lodged itself into the muscle tissue of his shoulder. It will need stitches. Blood coats his skin, dirties her hands. Why is this the second time she's had his blood on her hands?

"Oliver, who shot you?”

“Goes by Deadshot.”

Panic overwhelms her at the codename. She knows Deadshot. She knows who he is, what he does, who he works for… And she knows that he always uses laced bullets. He poisons his targets with curare, a muscle relaxant that blocks nicotinic acetylcholine receptors. It weakens the skeletal muscles, causing paralysis and, when given in the right dose, death.

“Oliver, listen to me. I think you’ve been poisoned. You have to stay awake, okay?”

Reaching down with his good arm, Oliver pats at the top of his left thigh, searching for something.

“Front… front left pocket. There are herbs.”

“You want me to make  _ tea _ right now?”

He cannot be serious.

“Just, give them to me. They’ll help.”

“Like hell they will.”

Pressing his shirt to his shoulder, Felicity scans the room for something, anything she can use as a tourniquet for the wound. A large hand covering her own draws her out of her frantic searching.

“Please, Felicity. Trust me.”

She pauses, staring him straight in the eye. There is no fear to be found there, no wavering in his gaze. Instead he implores her with his eyes to do what he said, to trust him. She weighs her options quickly as they race against time and makes her decision.

“Okay.”

Felicity swifty reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small brown pouch. Inside the pouch are the herbs Oliver was assumedly referring to. They smell disgusting, like rotten seaweed, and she tries hard not to gag. Pinching a substantial amount between her fingers, Felicity brings the herbs to his mouth. Her other hand finds the back of Oliver’s neck, tilting it so that he can chew and swallow without choking. Still, he coughs as they go down and she grabs the cup of water off her nightstand, pouring some between his parted lips to help.

“Thank you.”

His eyes begin to flutter shut, breaths coming in slower as his body relaxes and he succumbs to sleep.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Scrambling to her feet, Felicity sprints to her closet, crashing to the ground in front of it. She digs into the far back corner and drags a metal briefcase out from under a pile of heels. It takes her three tries to put the right code in, hands shaking as she flips the clasps open and lifts the lid. Nestled inside are two syringes and multiple vials of antidotes as well as sterile needles. Felicity quickly identifies the antidote she needs and fills the syringe before hurrying back over to where Oliver lay unconscious.

“You are not dying on my watch, Mister.”

Straightening out his arms, Felicity identifies the largest and most apparent vein in the crease of his elbow. This could work. Or it could react very badly with whatever herbal nonsense he just ingested. With a deep breath and a Hebrew prayer, she slides the needle in, wincing as it punctures the skin and enters his vein. Steadily, Felicity pushes down on the plunger to administer the antidote. When the vial is empty, she removes the needle and covers the puncture site with a bandaid.

That's one emergency dealt with. Now all that's left is removing the bullet and stitching him up. Which means more needles. The thought alone is enough to make Felicity sick to her stomach. Despite the training she was forced through, she never did fully overcome her fear of needles. Or kangaroos. But those aren’t nearly as commonplace as needles.

Felicity quickly pulls out the first aid kit she keeps handy and gets to work setting up all the necessary instruments to extract the bullet and close up the wound. She slips on a pair of sterile gloves so as not to contaminate any of the objects, then gets to work. Gunshot injuries are something she is very familiar with. Her steady hands were put to good use for more than just computers in the organization. At a young age Felicity was taught how to care for and stitch up a wound, many times in a very real situation on someone who had just returned from an assignment, so locating and extracting the bullet from Oliver’s shoulder is a cakewalk for her.

It’s the suturing that gives her pause. Felicity always hated this part, no matter how many times she did it. The needle piercing the skin, tugging at warm flesh consistently left her feeling queasy. This time is no different. She almost gags as she ties each surgical knot, causing blood to flow from the laceration and soak the dark thread. Luckily, it doesn’t take her too long to close the wound and she carefully applies a mild antiseptic to the area before covering it with a sterile gauze.

Sighing to herself, Felicity cleans up the medical supplies, returning everything back to its proper place and washing her hands. She then is left with a decision to make. Where does she sleep? Sharing a bed with Oliver is out of the question, so her options are the uncomfortable couch that was left by the previous tenant or the floor. The floor wins.

Felicity leaves to grab her favorite blanket off the couch in the living room before returning to her bedroom, one very bewildered cat in her wake. Cautiously, she approaches the bed to snag the pillow Oliver’s head is not currently resting on. She pauses, taking him in now that there’s no imminent threat to his life requiring her attention. He looks exhausted, dark bruising circles beneath his eyes contrasting with his sickly pallor. Even in drugged sleep, he seems to be on the alert, shoulders tense and brow furrowed. Felicity yearns to reach out and smooth away the wrinkles, to offer him some sort of comfort. But instead she moves away and situates herself on the floor by the foot of her bed. 

Java plops himself down in front of her face, head cocked to the side. She reaches out a hand to scratch lightly behind his ear, causing the animal to nuzzle her palm. He emits a soft purring sound that helps to distract Felicity from her worries.

All that’s left to do now is wait.

* * *

Felicity wakes up first the next morning, groaning softly as she stretches her back against the hard floor. She’s definitely going to be stiff for the next couple of days. Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she replays the events of last night in her head. Part of her wonders if Oliver is even still here or if he disappeared into the dawn of the early morning. However, when Felicity pulls herself to her feet, she finds Oliver on the bed in very much the same position as he fell asleep last night. He’s so still that if it weren’t for the controlled rise and fall of his chest, she would be checking his vital signs.

Quietly, Felicity leaves the room to start her morning coffee and feed Java. The cat stayed beside her all night, cautious of their houseguest. He has calmed down since Oliver’s abrupt appearance, but she can tell the animal is not completely at ease. She crouches down to give him some extra love and attention while her coffee brews.

A soft grunt from the bedroom a few minutes later draws Felicity’s attention away from the feline. Grabbing a bottle of water, she heads back to her room, pausing in the doorway to take in the sight before her. Oliver Queen lays shirtless and disoriented in her bed, cheeks slightly flushed and hair deliciously unkempt. His sleep-addled brain seems not to remember where he is or why as he glances around the room in confusion. His eyes zero in on Felicity where she’s leaning against the doorway, the intensity in his bright blue gaze causing her stomach to flutter.

“Felicity?”

Oh man. The roughness of his voice after just waking up is a whole other level of attractive, and it does nothing to calm the heat warming her insides at the sight of Oliver in her bed.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Oliver struggles to sit up, straining his injured shoulder and collapsing back onto the bed. Felicity surges forward, hastily placing the plastic water bottle on the bedside table as she reaches out to help steady him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don’t strain yourself. Your body is probably still recovering from the curare.”

“Curare… Deadshot.”

She nods in affirmation, assisting Oliver as he relies on his incredibly toned stomach muscles to bring him into a sitting position. Her hands linger on his upper back and bicep for a second longer than necessary before she retracts them into her lap.

“Those herbs you had must have been some kind of wonder drug. Ever think about dealing?”

Oliver turns his head to the side, glancing over at Felicity with an amused expression on his face. He still looks exhausted, but that spark she’s seen in him in between fleeting moments of almost happiness is there.

“Why, you looking to buy?”

“Oh, no. My only experience with drugs was when I unknowingly ingested a pot brownie at some party my first year at MIT.” Lie. “Admittedly though it could have been fun if it weren’t for the nuts that sent me straight to the ER.”

He laughs a little at that, carefully angling himself to face her a little bit better.

“MIT, huh?”

Felicity admonishes herself for the slip up. She hadn’t meant to say that. Although she has come to terms with the fact that Oliver seems to be an inevitability in her life while in Starling, that doesn’t mean she wants to share her life story with him. The less he knows, the safer he is, which given his choice of extra curriculars is saying something. If avoiding the personal details also serves to keep Oliver just a little bit further away from her heart, well that’s probably for the best, too.

Looking away, Felicity spots the bottle of water on the nightstand and quickly reaches over for it. She all but thrusts it in his face, avoiding the question completely.

“I, uh, got you some water. You should drink that. And if you’re up for it, there’s orange juice and toast in the kitchen.”

“Thank you.”

He accepts the bottle from her, twisting off the cap and downing almost the entire thing in one go. She watches the inexplicably attractive bob of his Adam’s Apple as he swallows and wonders how on Earth it is possible to make chugging water attractive. Maybe it’s a fetish she’s just now discovering.

“You know, this is the second time I’ve found you shot and bleeding. You might want to think about putting some kevlar in that thing.”

Oliver screws the cap back on and stretches to place the empty bottle back on the bedside table. His eyes squint in pain as the action pulls at the stitches. Felicity moves without thought to take it from him.

“Are you offering?”

She turns back to face him, head tilting to the side at the serious undertone of his question.

“Would you let me if I was?”

“I might.”

Felicity is taken aback for a moment at the genuine reply. She had been joking, mostly, but the idea of helping him, of being able to do something that could really make a difference in the world, is a stronger temptation than she thought it would be.

“So is this us finally addressing the fact that you run around in leather and a hood at night, and I’m the only one who knows your secret identity?”

“You’re not the only one who knows. My bodyguard, John Diggle, was shot the other night. I had to reveal myself in order to save his life. He didn’t take it as well as you apparently are.”

So that’s why Oliver was without his shadow the past few times she ran into him.

“Well, the way I see it, you’ve been going after the bad guys, doing the stuff that the cops can’t and getting nothing in return. Doesn’t seem so horrible to me.”

Felicity shrugs her shoulders right as Oliver sighs at her response. She glances over at him questioningly, wondering how he could have taken that in a bad way. He’s not looking at her, instead he’s staring down at his lap, brow furrowed in agitation.

“It's not that simple. I've had to do some things that I’m not proud of, but were necessary for survival. I've made enemies with dangerous people and anyone who gets close to me, to that side of me, is at risk."

"If you're trying to scare me away, it's not working."

He looks back up at her, gaze steadfast and eyes ernest as he replies. 

"I need you to know what you're getting yourself into."

"Trust me, I've dealt with worse."

“And what about staying away from each other?”

Felicity honestly can’t tell what Oliver wants from her.  _ He _ came to  _ her _ last night, knowing full well what the implications of his actions would be. Yet now he seems determined to give her an out, to push her away. She should be taking it, keeping them away from each other like she said, but her gut seems to be warring with logic. She wants this, even though she shouldn’t. 

"It seems like we are incapable of that. At least this way I can do some real good for this city. And keep you from getting shot to death.”

It will be a provisional thing. She can help Oliver and his mission while living in Starling and in a couple of months she’ll be out of here without a trace. This will also make it easier to track criminal activity, eliminating the need for her meetings with Cooper. Partnering up with Oliver is a strategic move.

“You patched me up?”

Oliver’s questioning tone pulls her from her musings. He’s studying the sutures on his shoulder, having removed the gauze she taped in place. The expression on his face is one of bewilderment as he gently presses around the wound in examination.

“I’ve had some basic medical training.”

She decides to leave out that she injected him with the antitoxin. There’s no way she can explain why she has a case full of poison antidotes sitting around in her closet without giving away too much.

“Is there anything you can’t do?”

Felicity’s cheeks warm at the praise. It’s not something she’s used to being on the receiving end of.

“Shoot a bow and arrow.”

“We can fix that.”

Oliver grins at her then, holding her gaze. For a quiet moment they just sit there, processing this turn of events. She watches as his expression grows somber, serious as he shifts his position. He breaks the moment by carefully throwing his legs over the side of the bed and pulling himself to standing.

“I need to go. My family is probably wondering where I am.”

“Right, your family. Of course. I’m sure they’re worried about you. Wait, how are you going to get out of here without anyone seeing you?”

Oliver grunts softly as he slides on his leather jacket, taking a little longer than average to drag the zipper up the front of his chest. 

“I have a place a couple blocks from here. It’s early enough that I can make it there without drawing too much attention.”

Felicity grabs his quiver full of arrows and his bow off the floor, handing them to him as she speaks.

“Like a secret hideout? Does it have a name?”

Oliver answers her with a blank, unamused stare, but Felicity is unphased by it.

“So that’s a ‘no’ then. We’ll work on that.”

He gives a good natured roll of his eyes in response before crossing the room to her window, which takes about all of three strides for him. Felicity follows, standing next to the window as Oliver crouches down and swings one leg over the ledge. He pauses halfway out the window to say one last thing to her.

“I’ll come by tonight to show you the place.”

“I can’t tonight. I have… work.”

An unsteady beat passes between them where Oliver remains eerily still and Felicity holds her breath. She bites her bottom lip, worrying at it as she waits for his reply. Really though, she shouldn’t let what he thinks about her way of making a living bother her. She does what she has to in order to survive. He of all people should understand that.

“Okay. Tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow.”

She nods in agreement, turning away as he moves to duck out the window. Felicity only makes it a step away before he’s calling out to her.

“Felicity?”

Turning back around, she finds Oliver still perched in her windowsill, eyes intent on her own.

“Thank you.”

A movement out of the corner of her eye catches Felicity’s attention as Oliver offers her his hand. She takes it, sliding her own petite hand into his much larger one. The palm of his hand is callused and rough, but the contact leaves her feeling warm, safe. Their hands linger in each other’s, neither one of them seeming to want to let go. 

Felicity glances down and disentangles her hand from Oliver’s, effectively breaking the moment. She awkwardly reaches at the back of her neck, then moves to cross her arms in front of her chest. She watches as Oliver gives her one last, short smile before slipping out the window and disappearing into the early morning light.


End file.
